Famous on the Internet
by amyxaphania
Summary: When Buffy interrupts Andrew using the computer, she’s unprepared for what she sees, and finds herself grieving for Spike all over again. Spike/Buffy implied, post-Damage.


**Summary:** When Buffy interrupts Andrew using the computer, she's unprepared for what she sees, and finds herself grieving for Spike all over again.

**A/N: **This is set a short time after _Damage_, and it disregards the season eight comics. In this fic, Buffy and Dawn are living in England, with Andrew as an unwanted houseguest. This could also be set in the same universe as my series of Andrew-centric drabbles "Five Reasons You Should Never Leave Andrew Alone With the Computer"… which I really should finish!

**Famous on the Internet**

Buffy dropped the phone back into the cradle with a sigh. If she had to hear that annoying buzzing-beeping one more time, she'd- "ANDREW!"

She headed into the small living room of the apartment, arriving just in time to see Andrew slam the lid of the laptop closed, a guilty look on his face.

"How many times have I told you to _stop_ blocking the phone line with porn?" She frowned, somehow that sentence had got lost in translation. "I mean, with you looking at porn on the net. Geez, it's like _every_ single time I want to make a phone call, you're on that damned computer."

"I wasn't looking at porn!" Andrew whined, pouting. "And besides, if you'd get broadband then it'd free up the phone line _and_ it wouldn't take ten hours for me to upload…er, I mean, look at… er…"

"You're _uploading_ porn?" Buffy wrinkled her nose in disgust, wondering for the ten thousandth time why she was letting the little freak stay with her and Dawn. "Give me the laptop."

Andrew clutched the computer protectively to his chest, giving Buffy a look that she supposed was meant to be puppy-dog-eyes, but looked more like he badly needed the toilet.

"Laptop," she said, eyes narrowed. "_Now_."

Andrew gulped and meekly handed her the computer. Buffy tried to take it from him, but he wouldn't let go, resulting in a mini tug-of-war that she won almost instantly. Gotta love that Slayer strength.

"Now," she said, once the computer was safely in her possession. "You are going to go to the store down the street, buy a newspaper and a pen, and start circling apartments. Got it?"

Andrew nodded, and scurried from the room, giving the computer in Buffy's hands a half-frightened, half-worried glance as he left.

Buffy sighed with relief and set the laptop back down on the desk, looking at it apprehensively. It was her computer, bought with Council money she'd guilted out of Giles to aid her in the highly important quest of online shopping. Although, ever since Andrew had descended upon the apartment he'd become practically the sole user of it, playing his silly games and complaining about the evils of dial-up.

And probably looking at highly questionable porn. So it was with understandable hesitation that she lifted the lid and prepared herself for the worst. Who knew what kind of stuff Andrew had been looking at, and then with the comment about uploading… She shuddered.

Braced for the worst, Buffy clicked onto the program Andrew had open, some sort of video-editing software, by the looks of it.

The window popped up, and she gasped. She'd been expecting nakedness of some sort, or perhaps a weird photo-manipulation where Andrew had stuck his head on someone else's well-built body. But this… she hadn't been expecting this.

She closed the lid of the laptop, the click sounding oddly loud in the quiet of the room. With tears in her eyes, she headed to the kitchen, and switched on the coffee machine.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, after drinking a tall mug of finest gold blend and eating half a plate of chocolate digestives, she took a deep breath and went back into the living room, where the laptop still hummed merrily away on the desk.

She hadn't been prepared for what had appeared on the screen, but she knew that she had to look again, how could she not? She hadn't got anything of his to remember him by, nor any pictures to look at when she wanted to be reminded of his face. But now she had this… and damned if she wasn't going to watch.

The program opened once more, and his face filled the screen. Buffy's hand fell away from the mouse pad as she stared at the display. The video was paused, and the frozen scene showed Spike leaning against the wall of the basement in her old house, a half-smoked cigarette at his lips.

Buffy smiled slightly, and lifted her hand towards the screen, wanting to reach through and touch him. She moved the mouse cursor to the play button, and hesitated for a moment, before tapping it lightly. The image leapt immediately to life, with Spike looking up at the camera, glaring and flicking the still-lit cigarette away.

_"I thought I told you to piss off with this bloody camera, yet here you are again with that thing in my face. Would you sod off before I rip your throat out and eat—"_

His voice was tinny through the laptop speakers, and the image blurred whenever he made a sudden movement, but Buffy was enraptured. It was _Spike_. Spike, with his weird British swear-words and his insistence that he was the Big Bad, even with the soul. The camera shook slightly, and Buffy heard Andrew speaking from behind the scenes.

_"Um, Spike? The light was kinda behind you…"_

_"Oh, right. Uh, what? Is this better then?"_

Buffy let out a half-laugh, half-sob as Spike let the evil vampire façade drop, stepping to the side slightly so that the light fell better on his sharp features. It was typical Spike.

The video faded to black, and she immediately set the slider to the beginning again, hitting play and watching the scene unfold once more. She did this several more times, noticing something different on each watch – the way he raised his eyebrow, the slight tilt of his head as he regarded the camera, the swish of the leather duster around his legs.

She knew that what she was doing was a little strange, but after months of grieving his death, and wishing that she could just see his face or hear his voice one more time… this was like a little bit of heaven. She smiled wryly, remembering the many times she had yelled at Andrew for following them all around with his video camera, then the smile stretched even wider when she realised that perhaps that meant there were more videos on here.

Still not entirely savvy with computers, it took her a while to find where the video files were saved, eyebrow raising when she read the bizarre file names.

Buffy clicked one with the title '_A Tragic Love Pt. 1_', but when the video opened she saw that it was of Xander and Anya, sitting on the couch in the living room of the house on Revello Drive, having what looked to be a very private talk. She smiled sadly. Despite the ex-demon's brash abrasiveness, she did miss her, sometimes. She wondered if perhaps Xander would want to see this video, or if it would do more harm than good for her friend. Xander had taken off to parts-unknown after Sunnydale had fallen, sending missives every so often with a short update that usually consisted of _'I'm fine. Weather's good. Love, Xan."_

She sighed, and exited the file, making a mental note to ask Willow if she thought it would be a good idea to let Xander see this – whenever they next saw _him_.

Looking over the rest of the files, she dismissed _'Introduction – Buffy, Slayer of the Vampyres'_, _'Willow & Kennedy – A Forbidden Love'_, and _'Dawn Summers – Key to It All'_, instead clicking on one with the title _'Spike Works Out'_.

The video opened into the basement again, and she could tell from the position of the camera that Andrew had sat himself at the very top of the steps, lens pointed towards the middle of the room and the punching bag that hung from the ceiling.

_"And now, gentle viewers, I bring you a sight that will enrapture and captivate, you will be titillated and you will salivate… I present to you, my dear friends, the wondrous image that is Spike…working…out!"_

Andrew's voice was hushed as he whispered into the camera, obviously not wanting to alert Spike to his presence. The picture went jerky as the camera moved to the left, then went out of focus as it zoomed in.

Spike was at the punching bag, wearing nothing but a pair of his black jeans. Buffy sucked in a gasp at the sight of his shirtless form, whaling on the bag as though it were a dire opponent, rather than a leather-covered bean bag.

She ignored Andrew's whispered commentary that exclaimed over the sleekness of Spike's skin, the tightness of his muscles and the beauteous sight of his butt, choosing to look for herself.

The video ended after a few minutes, the last few seconds showing Spike putting his shirt back on, and sitting down wearily on the small cot he'd slept on that year. He put his head in his hands, and she could see him pressing his thumbs into the sockets of his eyes.

What had he been thinking, as he punched the bag repeatedly? Who had he been seeing? She closed her eyes as the tape ended, freezing on the image of Spike with his head in his hands. The scene burned the back of her retinas, imprinted in her mind. She'd thought that they'd connected with each other – and not in the fun, sweaty way – near the end. They'd talked, and held each other, and come to an understanding – or so she'd thought – that things would be different between them when the battle was won.

Except… he'd died. He'd died, and she'd not had the chance to make good on all the promises she'd made to herself – and silently to him – in the nights before the fight. She'd told him she loved him, down in the Hellmouth. But for whatever reason, he hadn't believed her. He'd died not believing her, and she regretted that most of all.

Buffy opened her eyes and stared at the image of Spike on the screen, frozen in some unknown torment. The curve of his shoulders told her of his weariness, and the way his hands had slid through his hair before they'd come to rest on his face said that he was worried.

She reached out her hand and pressed it lightly to the screen, hovering over the small, pixelated image of his face.

"What are you thinking?" She whispered, increasing the pressure of her fingers until the screen began to warp.

She let out a choked sob and closed the file.

* * *

Buffy sat in silence at the desk, reliving the grief that had plagued her those first few weeks after the Hellmouth had collapsed. Dusk was falling, but she made no move to get up to switch the lights on. She started to wonder where Dawn was, before remembering that her sister was meeting some friends in town.

Andrew had probably spent the day hiding out in a café, too scared to come home and face her wrath. She was glad. She didn't know whether she wanted to yell at him for keeping these files a secret, or hug him because he still had them.

Buffy was startled out of her thoughts when the computer – still running from before – pinged loudly. She jumped half out of her skin, and peered at the screen, seeing an e-mail notification flashing in the corner.

She'd clicked it before she realised that Andrew – _Wells4Skywalker4Life_ – was still signed in, and the message was addressed to him.

_Andy,_

_When will the next _'A Vampyre's Redemption_' video be up? Can't wait to see what happened after Angel rescued him from Dana. Bitch._

_Keep up the good work,_

_Meg, Lucy & Jo_

_P.S. Thanks for posting bonus video _'Spike Works Out'_, was v. v. v. hot!!_

Buffy stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the e-mail. A Vampyre's Redemption? Angel? Dana? The dots were there, but they weren't connecting.

She had a look through the message history between Wells4Skywalker4Life and RainbowMeg, but didn't find anything out, apart from the fact that Andrew appeared to have posted several of the videos of Spike to the internet, and in doing so had built the vampire a legion of female – and some male – fans.

_Huh. Who'da thunk it? Spike, famous on the internet._

None of that explained the cryptic message about Angel rescuing _him_ – who she presumed to be Spike – from Dana.

She'd heard Dana mentioned, of course. Giles mostly kept her out of Slayer business these days, after Buffy had insisted that she deserved a rest after seven years on the job. But every now and then, he'd call her and update on the council's progress. One of the recent calls had been to tell her about a Slayer in Los Angeles, who had psychiatric problems and needed to be retrieved immediately.

She vaguely recalled arguing with Giles over the sensibility of sending Andrew to fetch Dana, but her former Watcher had insisted that it would be good for the boy, and after she realised that it would get Andrew out of her hair for a while, she'd readily agreed.

And so Andrew had gone off to LA to talk to Angel and his gang, armed with a group of Slayers, in order to bring Dana back with him to England, where she would hopefully be able to be rehabilitated at the Council headquarters.

As far as she knew, the mission had gone without a hitch. But then here was this email, talking about Angel having had to rescue someone from the rogue Slayer. And going on the evidence of the rest of the emails – all of them extolling Spike's virtues - if she had to make a wild guess…

But that was impossible. Spike had died in the Hellmouth. She'd _seen_ him starting to burn, heck she still had the scars from where she'd held onto him, flames bursting to life around their joined hands.

She stared at the scars, now no more than silvery-white lines on her bronzed skin. Had he survived? Had she left him down there, convinced he was going to die… and then he hadn't?

Visions of Spike being buried under tons of rock and other debris flashed before her eyes.

No. He'd burned. She knew it. But…

She opened the video editing program again, and scanned the file names looking for something that might give her more clues.

Several folders later, she found a series of files – _"City of Angels – The Return"_. She clicked on the first, and Andrew's smiling face filled the screen.

_"Well hello there, my dear and kind and loyal gentle viewers. Here I am once more, your host to all things supernatural. In our last video, I explained the vagaries of demon predatory habits, with extracts from _'Spike Works Out' _to illustrate how a vampyre might utilise his – or her – natural beauty to entice a victim. Stay tuned, gentle viewers, for the full '_Spike Works Out' _video in a few days…"_

Buffy frowned. This wasn't telling her anything. She fast-forwarded a little, until she saw Andrew getting into a taxi and swinging the camera around to himself once again.

"_…on my way to the home of all things evil, the offices of the LA branch of law firm _Wolfram and Hart_. I have been given a task of utmost importance – I must enter this hotchpotch of sin to gather information from Angel, vampyre with a soul, on the whereabouts of the rogue Slayer, Dana. If I succeed in my mission, I will surely have proven myself to Mister Giles. Well, here we are my good friends. Looks quite scary, doesn't it? I shall return shortly, for my mission demands that I must debrief Angel at once!"_

Buffy snorted, an image of Andrew removing Angel's pants flashing before her eyes. The video faded to black, and she opened the next one, hoping it would be more informative than the last.

"_You'll never believe it!"_ Andrew's voice was high-pitched with excitement, and he was dressed only in boxers and a white vest, sitting on what looked like a hotel bed. _"I entered Wolfram and Hart earlier today, set to begin my task of retrieving the Rogue Vampyre Slayer, when I espied a miracle in black leather. Yes, gentle viewers! Spike, the other vampyre with a soul, has been returned from the dead, sent back to this wondrous Earth to continue his mission of redemption-"_

There was a knock on a door, somewhere off-camera, and then _his_ voice, as deep and British and shiver-inducing as she remembered.

_"Oi, you comin' or what? Could just leave you behind, you know."_

_"I'll be there in a minute! As you have just heard, my lovely viewers, the vampyre Spike awaits my assistance and I must attend to his wishes at once. Until next time!"_

Buffy sat back in the computer chair, mouth dropped wide in shock. Spike was alive.

She repeated the words out loud to herself, wondering if by doing so, it would make more sense.

"Spike's alive. Spike's alive? Spike. Alive."

She heard the front door click shut, and spun around to see Andrew inching his way towards the kitchen, a newspaper in one hand and a plastic bag from Forbidden Planet in the other.

"Um, hi Buffy," Andrew waved the hand holding the newspaper. "I circled some apartments! Like you said…Er… have a good day?"

"I had a very _interesting_ day," Buffy replied, tapping the laptop.

"Oh, well, that's great!" Andrew smiled nervously, and dropped his shopping on the floor, heading back towards the front door. "Well, gotta run, bye!"

"Andrew!"

It was too late, he'd gone.

She turned back to the computer, eyes scanning the list of videos as she opened up a web browser. Moments later, she'd booked herself onto a flight to Los Angeles for the next day.

She'd always wanted to meet someone famous.

* * *


End file.
